Watch This Space
by himawarixxsandz
Summary: No, really. Watch it.
1. Set This Space

_A/N: Just read it through. Explaination for this monstrous piece of writing is at the end, I promise. _

* * *

Chapter One: Set This Space

The girl was pretty. That much was undeniable. Pretty and small—tiny for a kunoichi. Bandages capped her arms (all the way down to her bulky gloves), her neck, and a part of each thigh—underlining the spots where she strapped her shuriken holster and knotted on the symbol of her village. Holster on the right thigh, shinobi headband on the left. The rest of her legs were covered with high boots—not even open-toed, as most shinobi left them, but entirely closed.

She had room to spare on her legs, not because of their endless length—she was tiny, after all—but due in large part to the even tinier shorts connected to her one piece suit—strapless, sleekly black, and netted around her little midsection. Her shoulders were bare. Her collarbone was bare.

But both children in the room had the soft, voluminous reddish brown hair for cover. Hair that didn't quite curl into ringlets, but wouldn't quite lie straight either. Round teal eyes resided on two pale faces, right beneath auburn bangs.

Hair color and eye color were far from the only things she shared with the boy standing on the other side of the sparse, sunless room. Roughly in appearance, they were the same size, though not the same height, and perhaps even the same age—give or take a year or two.

Gaara looked to the girl through lidded eyes. He spoke slowly, almost as if he had to force the words out one by one. "If I have to go, I lead when Baki isn't there."

"I think they already knew that." The girl spoke with a similar tone, a similar volume. Quiet, efficient, and nothing unnecessary. She looked up at him, seeing that his arms were folded around himself. Her arms were propping her up against the windowsill, legs crossed at the ankles.

He didn't acknowledge that she answered—neither a reply nor a nod. "You'll be behind me?"

"Always." She bowed her head briskly, swiftly.

"Don't stop pushing." There was just the slightest bit of misgiving whenever he spoke that sentence to her. It was a rare moment that Sunagakure's ultimate weapon would show even the most infinitesimal hint that he might have a weakness.

"I won't."

His eyes watched her—their teal gazes slipping into one another. "You're dismissed."

She bowed, low, and then disappeared out the window.

* * *

A scroll clunked against her head. One brown eye blinked open. The other reluctantly followed. She reached over blindly searching for the fallen scroll and ripped it open, her free hand rubbing at her eye. Her fingers sleepily smoothed out the paper. A yawn escaped her mouth, and she blinked her eyes another two times for good measure before commencing to read the message.

_Training area 3. Bring half gear. Depart now._

It was in his handwriting. Or hopefully, what she remembered to be his handwriting. And even if it was his handwriting, it could be another foreign ninja impersonating him in order to lure her into a false sense of security before abducting her. But then again, it was too early to think like that—or at all—and there was no use for abducting a nothing little genin from Konoha other than for pure kicks. And even that was stupid.

Sighing, Ashino Hana swung her legs out from the sheets and glared hazily at the floor. What else could she glare at? The person responsible for this wasn't present before her at the moment. Pretending that she wasn't freezing, and it wasn't four in the morning, she padded across her room and tugged out the first articles of clothing she felt when she reached into her wardrobe.

She chanced a brave glance at her hair in the mirror while she brushed her teeth, and winced at the sight. The black tangles were so encompassed with each other that they actually added to her height.

But really, there wasn't any time for preening and pruning in front of the mirror. Not that she'd ever been the type to preen and prune in the first place. So she settled with whacking a brush through the Forest Known As Her Hair, and knotting it up into a ponytail. Hopefully, one that wouldn't get caught in a branch or crap similar to that.

She secured her headband around her forehead, adjusting the reflective Leaf symbol, and pulled it tighter once more for good measure.

Only half of her team was already at Area 3, waiting, when she reached them. Her sensei and one of her two teammates. Dashimoto Nojiko-sensei, standing by the aiming posts, looking as insanely normal as any living ninja could get—so normal that it was kind of creepy how normal he looked; not to say he was ugly or plain, he was rather good-looking with the dark hair and oddly blue eyes, he was just so normal. Normal, in the way that he dressed and acted.

Nojiko was the complete antithesis to the teammate of Hana's that was currently present. But, Hana felt that that was unfair. It wasn't that Nojiko was his antithesis; it was more that Nakamori Yujo was the antithesis of everyone in the world who was sane. Which, well, actually didn't include that many people, now that Hana really thought about it.

See, the thing was, Yujo wasn't really all that weird regarding the way he _was_. He was just another genius result from a stupidly (Hana's opinion) noble clan—like the Uchiha and the Hyuuga, only without as much absurd drama. It was the way he _dressed_.

Black from head-to-toe, chained cargo shorts riding low—riding immensely low, and a sleeveless shirt that rode up much more than often to show a pale, tight strip of skin wound around even tighter, fitter hips—all this, however, wasn't the weird part.

The weird part was that he had a tiny, glinting silver hoop hanging from the right of his full, lower lip. Hana didn't really have a protest against it, although Nojiko had far more than enough commented mockingly on how it would get snagged by some flying kunai or another and Yujo would then, therefore, have to either get reconstructive surgery or look like a freak for the rest of his life.

It was just weird. Especially since they were twelve. Ninja, or no.

And then there was his hair.

Yujo had rather nice hair. Considering the rest of him was new-century pretty boy, his hair would of course be very nice. It was all dark brown, like the color of chocolate. And it looked soft and lustrous—the kind of hair you'd want to sink your hand into and pet all day long without getting bored.

It was just that, well, it pointed in twenty different directions, while simultaneously being wavy, curly, straight, and spiky and all of this combined more or less gave him the look of either a serial killer and/or someone who hadn't bathed in a year. Although, it was assured that Yujo did bathe regularly, as Hana had had her other teammate, Natsu, sniff him once or twice to make sure he was hygienic.

Natsu had concluded that Yujo smelled epic. In the good way.

Hana still wasn't sure if that should reassure her or trouble her. The part where Natsu had described Yujo's scent as epic, that is.

And when Hana finally reached them, Nojiko was staring adamantly at the sky, and Yujo was sitting cross-legged on the ground, tongue out and flirting with his lip ring.

She set her pack on the ground and put her hands on her hips. "So," she said as brightly as her non-breakfasted self could muster, "'Morning."

Nojiko brought his eyes down from the sky and stared at her determined smile for all of two, long, rather painful minutes, before responding with a plain, "Oh. Yeah."

Any other sensei would have greeted their seemingly enthusiastic-to-learn-at-four-in-the-freakin'-morning student with similar seeming enthusiasm. But as Nojiko was one of the youngest Jonin registered as a sensei—barely six years older than his students themselves—he was little more than they were in terms of maturity.

Yujo simply turned his clear, forest eyes up to Hana by way of greeting. It wasn't as though Hana really expected any more than that. Not really. She had already learned that even though Yujo seemed expressionless, everyone had a good and bad side, and if silent stares and nods were Yujo's good side, she decided she didn't want to learn about his bad side.

"Where's Natsu?" she filled into the gaping silence. Her eyes slid back to Yujo, who was now adjusting his ninja headband—he wore it as an armband—around the wiry, taut muscle of his bare upper arm. Plenty of times, Hana honestly thought that Uchiha Sasuke was dearly overrated. At least, where pretty boy status was concerned—Yujo's looks and Yujo's style were far more unique, far more original than the nearly overused dark and broodingly misunderstood MO.

"I was about to ask you." With that, Nojiko finally sighs and straightens away from the post. "I've got a few things to discuss before we get on with the training. And I don't want to have to repeat it just because Natsu doesn't know how to work an alarm."

Yujo threaded his fingers together in his lap neatly and tilted his head upward first to his sensei and then to his teammate. Hana, if she could, mostly avoided looking directly into Yujo's eyes. Looking at his eyes was comparable to looking at the sun, only green. Wherever the sun was too bright to be bearable, Yujo's eyes were too green—too round and perfect—to be human, to be earthly. And for the few months they'd been teammates, Hana had ever only heard his voice twice—excluding when he was executing jutsu, that is.

Any other person who'd never seen Yujo fight before might've included the jutsu casting—because that counted as speaking, too, didn't it? Albeit, shouting perhaps, but still voice usage.

Hana, however, knew that it was nothing of the sort. But for that, one would have to watch Yujo fight—really fight. And thing was, Yujo didn't really like to fight. He liked to train—obsessively. But he didn't quite like to fight—it just wasn't his fancy, or something, and that merely added to his list of eccentricities, as Yujo was a _freaking ninja_.

"Hey! I'm sure he'll show up soon. It's got nothing to do with working an alarm." Beneath her breath, she muttered, "Since I don't even wake up to mine…"

Nojiko just stared for another bit, before turning his gaze to Yujo. That Hana knew of, Nojiko was the only person—aside, from perhaps members of the Nakamori clan itself—that'd actually ever braved looking into Yujo's eyes for more than a split second. Like Hana had mentioned in the earlier simile, staring at Yujo for too long was like staring at the sun—you just had to look away, because your eyes were starting to water, and it felt like if you looked any longer, one thing would lead to another, and you'd end up unable to look at anything else for the remainder of your life.

And that _would_ be a shame.

Or at least, that was what Nojiko had sarcastically added when Hana had ranted to him about how she swore Yujo had to have some sort of ulterior motive for training himself to be so awesome at what she and Natsu had dubbed as the Ninja Glare—something that'd apparently given Nojiko a migraine by the sheer mention of it, and thus, had had him send Hana and Natsu to run another fifty laps around the training field.

"If you don't like repeating things," Hana said, plopping down beside Yujo, "You can just tell us and then we'll tell Natsu." She chanced a glance at Yujo—staring lifelessly straight ahead. "I mean, _I'll_ tell Natsu."

The thing with Yujo that Hana managed to learn throughout their days at the Academy, and even more so during the small number of months they'd been teammates was that because he didn't talk very much—or at all—all of his words were put into his gestures. Yujo was "actions speak louder than words" incarnate. Meaning, just like now, one had to always pay attention to his movements. And at the moment, Yujo had lifted his arm and was pointing straight ahead, at a tiny moving black dot in the horizon.

"What's—" Hana squinted into the sunrise. "Oh, Nojiko-sensei, hey, isn't that--?"

To live in Konohagakure was to know Uzumaki Naruto. And to know Uzumaki Naruto was to more easily understand Yasashi Natsu. Because whereas Uzumaki Naruto was all things brash, loud, obnoxious, seemingly half-witted, and pint-sized, Yasashi Natsu was just an infinitesimal bit more bearable than that.

At least he wasn't pint-sized.

But he was one for dramatic show—whether intentional or no still remained to be determined. And it was nothing but dramatic show and perhaps that seeming half-wit that brought Natsu skidding through the dirt to a halt, dust clouds exploding around him, stumbling onto his stomach, posterior high in the air, eyes comically unfocused—the whole slapstick bit—and to add an insult to injury, or perhaps to put a cherry on the sundae, a rather demented-looking ball of fur hanging from one ear.

The air around Team 14 wasn't dull, if nothing else. Rather, it was quite tense. And if looks could kill, Nojiko would be charged for the murder of his student. However, looks could not kill, and so Nojiko merely summed up his less than cheery feelings with a nod and walked away (most likely to tip another few aspirins down his throat) with a gaze that conveyed hopelessness for all of humanity, because humanity _must_ be lost—or must soon to be lost—if this was what the village would soon be trusting its civilians to.

Hana pulled her lips into her mouth and sucked a deep lungful of air through her nose. She knew she shouldn't yell, but what she couldn't quite figure out was if she was trying not to be angry with Natsu or if she was just trying not to laugh. Most likely both. Because being both angry and laughing at Natsu would make _her_ seem a bit mentally unstable.

And she knew that Nojiko and Yujo already thought she was more than a bit mentally unstable. Well, Nojiko did. No one really knew what Yujo thought, but it was easier just to lump him in.

She just watched Yujo push himself up to his knees and edge closer to Natsu, leaning down and peering at the furry little creature hanging to his right ear. "This," Yujo whispered hoarsely, as though from lack of use (only thing was there was no _"as though"_ about it, since it really did lack use), "thing has teeth."

Hana bent over and peered at it. Whatever it was, it did indeed have teeth. And it was using its quite sharp teeth to cling onto the shell of Natsu's poor ear. "Actually, I think that's a hamster. Or, it used to be one, anyway." She poked Natsu's shoulder. "Oy, Nojiko-sensei's pissed at you. Again. How much longer are you going to pretend to be unconscious and crap? Pull the freaking hamster off your ear and get up. Sensei wants to tell us something, and I want to have breakfast."

* * *

"When is she coming back?" A shaded room, every window save for one closed off from the harsh midday desert sun.

"She'll be back when she's back." Two figures—one lounging on the bare couch, the other standing respectably against the opposing wall.

"Aw. But I want her back _now_." Tainted golden hair shadowing wicked, violet eyes.

"Well, you can't _have_ her back _now_. Because clearly, she isn't here. You don't have much patience as a shinobi, do you?" Calm, glowing violet eyes behind fresh, black hair.

"That's not true! I have tons of patience when it comes to being a shinobi." High, pale skin.

"Then why can't you just patiently wait and stop harassing me?" High, defined cheekbones.

"Because I don't miss her as a shinobi." A snort from a fine, delicate nose.

"Then what _do_ you miss her as?" A sigh through full lips—full, but undeniably male.

A grin, and long fingers tugged at the unzipped collar of a shirt. "Well, she's hot, isn't she?"

"Hien…" Another sigh. "If Himawari were here, then she'd—"

"I'd absolutely fucking kill him."

Both boys turned to the only window open. The pretty girl knelt on the sill, desert wind whipping her hair from behind. She slid through the hole, hands on the raised windowpane, and walked steadily across the room toward the boy on the couch. The boy with fair hair—if dark gold could be construed as fair—that hung straight against his neck; a shirt unzipped to show the young, wiry torso behind metal netting; and a bulky, silver amulet around his throat, reaching halfway down his chest.

That left the remaining boy standing—the boy with dark hair and clothes so ordinary, he'd be utterly mistakable down outside in the desert town. He would simply blend in that well with every other shinobi walking about.

Both boys towered over their female teammate, and both boys had similar delicate features and precisely, in appearance, alike violet eyes.

Hien, violet eyes dangerous and wicked, caught Himawari around her tiny hips and pulled her to him—between his stretched legs. "Missed you, babe."

She smiled angelically and gently placed her small hand on his wrist, and squeezed until the satisfying sound of bone crackling echoed through the dim room.

Hien recoiled faster than a cobra with a mongoose on its tail. The boy almost pouted as Himawari continued to stride past him and leaned beside the dark-haired boy—the boy with calm, calculating violet eyes. "Stuff it," she said, her eyes looking deceivingly beatific at Hien. "I'm too pissed to put up with any of your shit today. And I was gone for an hour. Hardly enough time for you to think up any more perverted antics."

"Aw," Hien sighed dramatically, tossing his hair back out of his eyes. "You're just way over there because Rikachi's gay. The only way _you _can ever go around without getting hit on is when you hang out with homos."

"Either way," Rikachi smiled. "She's beside me, and not you."

"Fucker."

Himawari simply relaxed into her skin and let the cousins go off. It was more than amusing to watch them fight—if only they kept it up for more than just minutes. Not to say that it wasn't true she always stood beside Rikachi during one of their meetings. It lessened the chance of being harassed by a far too pubescent Hien. Because what Hien said was more or less true. Rikachi was gay, and thus, Rikachi was safe.

She was arrogant and she was vain—and she knew that. Thus, she knew she was brilliantly hot. Fiercely pretty. And of course she liked it. Having the usual show of top class perversion from Hien helped lots, too. Thirteen-years-old and knowing one was ultimately desirable was not a terrible place to be.

Thirteen-years-old and being part of the squad specifically designed by her father around Himawari's unique shinobi art (the one mutated into her by birth experiments) to shadow the Shukaku's host on missions was also not a terrible place to be. It was, however, an emotionally detached and a precarious one.

Always teetering on the edge and not knowing if this time she was going to fall off or teeter just so back into place. She was a mistake child. At least Gaara knew that his existence was intentional—at least his existence had a purpose, even if just to be a host for a demon. She herself had none. They meant to have her "pushing" art and the demon all in one child—enabling the host to be able to control the Shukaku.

But they'd missed the timing to infuse her with the demon during the pregnancy. Missed it by a hair, but missed it all the same. Meaning, she wasn't even a completed product. Just a trial error.

And there wasn't a day she went without being reminded of that.

"So how did it go?" Rikachi glanced down at her—both pointedly ignored Hien silently steaming off his frustration on the couch. "Did he agree to it?"

"With a few conditions."

"What sort?"

"The usual." Himawari eyed Hien's pout as he tugged on the amulet wound around his neck. As the main heir of the Nekouga clan from Kumogakure—ambassadors to Sunagakure—Hien was the one to drag the heavy, centuries-so-old-it'd-began-to-rust-decades-before-their-generation-was-even-born, sterling silver amulet with an even heavier and even older topaz stone stuck right at the center—haphazardly cut and nothing set around it.

She folded her arms and Hien's eyes flew to her chest. "Y'know, everything that's already painfully obvious—leading when Baki isn't around, having me behind him, and he told me not to stop pushing, which was weird."

"How, babe?" Hien asked, licking his lips as his eyes flickered up to Himawari's face for a fraction, and then back down to the anatomical part of her that was, at the moment, being rather suspended by the action of her folding arms.

Himawari indifferently turned to the side—just so, in a way that gave Rikachi the full view if he ever cared to be straight enough to look down, and gave Hien a view of her metaphorically cold shoulder. "Because he knows that I'm not allowed to stop—or moreover, that if I do stop, it'll be more detrimental to me than him, in the end and with all things considered."

"Not really," Rikachi intercepted easily.

"How so?" Her query came off flat.

"The positional repercussions will be worse for you—but that can be amended. You think the Kazekage's going to live forever? Well, hey. But for Gaara, it'll just be the end."

Hien's eyebrows went up, but his eyelids went down, as he went spread-eagle on the couch, one gangly arm and leg hanging over the edge and touching the floor. "That's _such_ a great way of thinking, y'know, Rikachi?"

"It's true," his cousin said.

"Like I said," Himawari laced her arm through Rikachi's—small and curvy against tall and lean, "absolutely fucking, beautiful family chemistry we have here, yeah?"

"Go fuck yourself," Hien grumbled, throwing the arm that leaked onto the floor over his eyes.

"Yeah? I thought you wanted to do it for me."

That brought Hien jolting into a sitting position, his eyes alive and wicked lovely. "Does that mean I can? Answering my prayers after all these long, long, _long_ nights alone and masturb—"

Himawari kissed Rikachi.

She heard—using exclusive shinobi hearing—Hien stomp out of the room like a little child. Or maybe, like the little boy he probably never grew out of acting as. Kissing Rikachi wasn't some vehement way to infuriate Hien, as some lesser beings of life might believe it to be at first glance. Kissing Rikachi was just a way to shut Hien up. It was equivalent to any normal human teenager simply saying, "shut up" to their more than overbearing friend. Even Hien himself understood it to be no more than that.

But they'd never been normal. Himawari doubted that even she herself knew the meaning of the word, much less what it took to even attempt normalcy. Not that that was a problem. She'd always liked it that way—and Rikachi and Hien did, too.

Anyhow. This strategy was just made better by the fact that Rikachi was gay—meaning that Himawari could be in confidence that he'd never 1) like-like her or/and 2) try to take advantage of the situation and make-out with her. Not that she wouldn't completely castrate him if he ever tried. Gay or not, she knew that boys of her age were rather fond of their nether regions remaining intact. Gay or not, she knew that males of _all_ ages were rather fond of their nether regions remaining intact.

At most—which was not most at all—the kisses were open-mouthed. Rikachi was a fine-looking boy precisely her own age—not that Hien wasn't also fine-looking and her age, but really—so Himawari was not averse to anything more (considering who her alternative was) than their usual _("We'd better do this soon before Hien has to take his foot out of his mouth again.")_ contract, but she'd gotten the obvious hint from Rikachi's body language, that he really would rather not stomach any more Girl.

"That was a quick one," Rikachi commented. Normally, they had to resort to groping for Hien to leave.

She shrugged. "Huh. Maybe he's just getting the message, yeah? Y'know, the one on how he has to stop putting feet into his mouth?"

"I thought it was the one on how he has to stop sexually harassing you."

"That one, too."

Rikachi looked at her for a long moment, violet eyes calculating all the way through her own. And he smiled knowingly—quietly and almost arrogantly _("Because I'm as arrogant as you are", he'd once said)_. "You like it, though."

She smiled. "Well. _He_ doesn't need to know that, yeah?"

* * *

_A/N: So. The explanation for this is in my profile Updates. Specifically, the one with the (7/6/09) date. I would re-explain it again here, but I'm a lazy bum. Most of you who are reading this straight from your Author Alerts Email notification probably put me on Alert because of my TRC stuff. So those of you who know me from TRC or better yet the Secrets Series, also know Mioru, right? Right, right? The OC that you usually want to punch in the face? But you love anyway (hopefully)? Well, now in this story, as you can see, you'll see me develop characters and work them into completely canon situations. Because everything here is canon except for my added characters. Naruto, Sakura, Sasuke, Shikamaru, Kakashi, Hinata....every character in the actual series is here. And all the events are precisely and accurately canon. But you'll see all of that from different characters' eyes. _

_This is probably one of the most cliche settings and story ideas ever, but I know that those of you who've read my Secrets Series know that I can pull off cliche pretty well. Although I'm not sure if Secrets is cliche...but, anyhow. If you listened to me in the earlier paragraph in the A/N and went to see the explanation, you'll know that I'm co-authoring (read: co-AUTHORING, not co-writing) this with my best friend who is a fantastic artist and a slightly suckish writer. Actually, she kind of hates reading and writing, but opposites make good best friends. On here, she asked me to introduce her as NTspaz. She's not very used to FF and posting and stuff, but yeah. Oh, and since she loves the idea of reviews and things because I told her all about my reviewers (GHSNeko, Rightside Reflection, pockysnightmare, vicious-kitsune, theRecorder--if any of you are reading this, you guys are the ones I told her about, stalkerish-sounding-way aside) I decided to put this out: When you review, address if you're reviewing to me or to NTspaz, so whichever one it is, we can reply separately._

_Without further ado..._

_**NTspaz:** hien's a freak._

_**Himawarixxsandz:** Yeah, so this is my co-author. My BFEW (Best Friend of Epic Winsome). She's a yaoi-phobe (not to be confused with homophobe, which she is not). Which is why she probably dies a little inside when I talk about Kurofai and all that awesomeness. So for those of you who read my Secrets Series, or any other Kurofai stuff, feel free to torture her through reviews._

_**NTspaz:** ...right...um, well.. yeah. keep on reading! lawlzah, i don't know what to say...  
_

_**Himawarixxsandz:** Right. Our conversations are a lot more interesting than this. We just seem like boring saps, is all. So NTspaz's job is officially, as of now, to make sure you keep reading and my job (as all of you know) is to beg for reviews.....reviews. Please. I can't really offer you homo cookies though....can I? Since this is my first multi-chaptered fic that isn't in TRC or KuroFai or AU or yaoi.  
_

_**NTspaz:** that's probably only because i'm here, right? haha..._

_**Himawarixxsandz:** But Rikachi's gay. And there are two other gays amongst the OCs. So see if you can guess who. I'll sneak you a homo cupcake, then (pockysnightmare). Originally, none of these OCs were gay, but I had to change that due to the yaoi fangirl I am. 'Sides, I rather dislike all the stories with this same idea out there because they couple all of the perfectly happy straight characters together. And I've noticed that that makes some people hate 14 year olds and think that they can't write. Which makes me and NTspaz quite less than pleased. Far, far less than pleased. Anyhow, that's all.  
_


	2. Meet This Space

_A/N: This would've been up yesterday, way earlier, and without as much trouble as I'm having posting it. For some reason, even though I managed to log in, the Document Manager won't let me upload it, so I had to copy and paste, and when I did that, it copied and pasted twice. Meaning I, then, had to backspace it. e_o_

* * *

Chapter Two: Meet This Space

The first time I saw her I thought that it was some sort of fucking prank. She was all trussed up like one of those girls I see giggling at the village market over a discount on jewelry or boys—most of which were so weak I can beat them blind in one eye and high. Well, she probably wasn't half as made-up as they were, but it was the aura she gave off. The naïve innocence of "All is right with the world, and even if it isn't, I'm going to try and change that". That sort of idealistic nonsense that I _hate_. But then again. It was what they taught in this village—this village with too many trees and little shinobi kids thinking that there was nothing more to being a shinobi than hard-work and good, wholesome determination. This village full of complete bull. At least, in my opinion.

The first time I saw her, I thought that it was some sort of sick joke. I thought she was a slut. She was the epitome of everything I hated. Or thought I hated. She was beautiful and she knew it. But that might be what made her seem like a slut. And she was arrogant—so, so vain and so, so conceited. It was all in that one smart-alecky grin of hers. Guys probably ate out of her hand. Just looking at her made me want to hit her. Pull out some of that pretty hair. But undeniably, unfortunately, she was the kunoichi you would want on your side—from your village, on your team, allied with you. I didn't. It didn't matter how strong or how smart. She wasn't safe and she wasn't good. She was brutal. No compassion, no morals. Nothing. As high and dry as the desert. Suits her, though, huh?

* * *

Hana looked up at the sky and licked her lips. "Let's get croquettes." She put her hands in her pockets and spun around, stopping in the middle of the pathway to look at her teammates. "They're fast, and I can take them home. There's a shop close by, isn't there? Right around the corner." She nudged her head toward the left turn, and watched for a reaction from the two boys.

The news that Nojiko had had to tell them had been none other than about the Chunin Exams. And about applying. About _them_ applying. The reactions to this had more or less been predictable, what with Hana and Natsu pumping their fists into the air and spastically dancing jointly, and Yujo having no reaction as his reaction.

Although when Nojiko had, at the end of his explanation, pressed for questions, only Yujo came up with one that hadn't infuriated Nojiko to the point where he cut aforementioned question off before it could be properly asked _("When we're Chunin, do we get a vest like yours?" "Can we order it in a different color?" "Can we not have one, since they're kind of ugly?"_).

Yujo had asked if you could individually register, or if it was a team thing.

It was, apparently, a team thing.

Yujo's tongue had then proceeded to attack his lip ring. Hana had surmised that Yujo was probably sulky inside because he had to be stuck with his teammates who were oh so less talented than he was, and therefore, would have his kickass-ness (not that she admitted he was anywhere near kickass) hindered by their untalented-ness during the exams.

"Dude, I'm starving." Natsu sighed tragically and looked to the sky. "I'm going to die."

Hana looked at him waspishly. "No, you really aren't. It's about ten more paces, so if you die now, it won't be as tragic as it'll be ironic. Like, really."

"You're so _mean_ to me."

"I am not mean."

"You are _so_ mean."

"I am not _mean_—"

Yujo interjected with, "I'm hungry."

They _had_ somehow parked at the side of the path. Hana looked at Yujo and then shared a glance of pure camaraderie with Natsu. Simultaneously, in perfect execution, the two said in sarcastic shock, "Oh my God. _He speaks_." Yujo merely continued to look bored. And silent. Because only Nakamori Yujo could _look_ silent. Hana had long since learned it was an art in itself.

And that there were a lot of things only Nakamori Yujo seemed to be able to do, because most of the things normal humans did seemed to be below the standards of Nakamori Yujo. Speaking when spoken to was apparently one of them. Or maybe just speaking in general.

"C'mon then," Hana jumped in the air a few times to get the doom-and-gloom-ness of Yujo out of her system. It really was unhealthy to be in such proximity with him. She might get depressed. She spoke to Natsu, "He's already semi-anorexic. The Nakamori will hound us if he goes all the way."

Natsu just grinned.

Yujo just looked silent.

* * *

"I don't want to go out." Himawari folded her arms, and tilted her chin up, nose in the air defiantly. "I'm tired from running, and those goddamn three days we were _out_ all the time. We had to _sleep_ out. And now you two want to _go_ out?"

Her older siblings glared down at her with twice the defiance. In Himawari's opinion, twice the stupidity. She'd always hated the outdoors—one stipulation against her in the shinobi career—but she could put it aside long enough to get through traveling and missions. (Though even for that, she preferred espionage and document retrieval.) And even though Temari and Kankuro knew—they _knew_—exactly how much she hated all plants except for cacti and all bugs with _no_ exceptions at all, as soon as they'd reached the quarters reserved for them during these exams, they still insisted on going out.

And they also knew that wherever they went, Himawari's team would have to go, too. Because Gaara would inevitably find something of interest and follow the two oldest siblings, if not purely to spite and scare them in one way, or another.

"We know you don't want to go," Temari said, one hand on her hip, and the other holding up her fan. "But we do. It's Konoha, and we just want a look, all right? It's your job to follow _us_, not _our_ job to stay where you can see us."

Himawari's eyes narrowed. She could see the outlines of Hien and Rikachi kneeling in position outside the screen door, waiting for the ultimate decision to be made after the siblings' battle. It was two against one, but Himawari knew that her older sister and brother knew that she was more than enough to make up for numbers.

And she could feel Gaara lurking somewhere close, too. As to where had yet to be found.

"Stop be so selfish, yeah li'l sis?" Kankuro heaved a cynical sort of sigh.

"Don't 'yeah' me." With that tone, Himawari would have to admit that her juvenility was seeping out through the cracks. But when frustrated, her hold on how things flew from her mouth wasn't always the tightest.

Kankuro raised a painted eyebrow. "Well, you always 'yeah' everyone else. Can't your big brother take a page out of your book?"

"No," and for a moment Himawari was deathly afraid at how small her voice came out when beside his dropping timbre. The single year between their ages had seemed so much more insignificant before his voice had begun to break and he'd started to shoot up. "I want to sleep, and that's final."

"For the life of you," Temari hissed, "can't you just once think about how much we don't want to deal with you every time we want to leave a building?"

Ah. Now Himawari was returning to her element. "Don't quite feel like it. It's not like I ever wanted to stalk you anyway. You two could at least do something exciting once in a while."

When Temari's teeth began to chafe against each other, Kankuro sighed another sigh and stepped to her. One step. Two steps. "Listen here," he looked closely at her, "Konoha's full to the brimming with pussyfooted genin. If we find someone to beat around, you can have the rest. Baki won't know from us. Deal?"

Temari looked alarmed. "Kankuro—"

Himawari narrowed her eyes again. Shot a glare at her sister. She'd always hated Temari the most. Maybe it was because they were both girls. Maybe because Kankuro at least understood the want that kept her getting into street fights. "Fine. Deal. An hour around the village at the most, okay? And _just_ walking."

"Yeah, yeah," Kankuro rolled his eyes, and padded his hand through her hair. She slapped it away.

Human contact from her siblings never failed to bring her _Look at me wrong, and you'll never look at anything again_ levels up another five notches. Himawari turned to the screen door, noticing that Hien's silhouette had already stood up. "You two can fucking get in here now. Like you weren't eavesdropping already."

Hien was the first one in—_shocker_. Within two seconds, his arm had gone around Himawari's waist, and her elbow had gone into his crotch. At her height and considering his, it was easier to aim low then aim high. A blow to the balls was more painful and easier to reach than a blow to the stomach or face.

"Babe," he whined, wincing. "That's not a nice thing to do. What if you do irreparable damage? Then we can't make beautiful babies till dawn!"

Himawari stepped to the side and winced right back. "You're a psycho. Maybe if you stopped talking like that I'd let you make-out with me. Maybe. Probably not. But it's better than nothing."

Rikachi walked in and breezily took a fistful of Hien's hair and tugged. Hard. "Play nice, kiddies."

"Ow. Ow, ow, ow." Hien scowled at him. "I hate you so much. Faggot."

"I love you, too, cousin dearest."

Himawari wrinkled her nose. Looked to her siblings. "Well. Get going then, yeah? We'll catch up with you in a bit. Let me at least fix my hair. It looks like shit, and I don't even get to shower, thanks to you."

Hien perked up from his self-imposed sulk. "Shower?"

Rikachi kicked him in the shin. "Up yours, Casanova."

She watched Temari and Kankuro leave without another word to her—without another glance to her or her teammates. Yeah. _She_ was the heartless one. Himawari knelt beside Hien—he'd curled into a ball in the corner, glaring rather fiercely at Rikachi. "Poor baby." She stroked her fingers through his hair.

He dared to glance up at her with glittering eyes.

She felt a hand on her thigh.

Hair-stroking turned into a slap. "Get up," she said sweetly. "Didn't you hear darling sissy and darling older brother? We're going out."

Rikachi kissed her lips as she passed him on the way to the door. "What exactly are we doing again?"

"Sightseeing." She grinned.

* * *

They never did get to eat. Apparently, Hana had second-guessed wrongly about Yujo's semi-anorexia. In all honesty, she and Natsu had been joking. Sort of. But before they could turn that one glorious corner, Yujo had pulled up into a tree.

And it was a learned art that when Yujo had something truly important to do and wanted his teammates to follow, he usually said nothing at all. It was the insignificant things like 'I'm hungry' that he took care enough to voice. So disappearing randomly was something that Hana and Natsu had methodized as something to watch out for. And to gauge at a moment's notice.

But really, they were too hungry to do much of anything except cave to their tried and true methods in dealing with Yujo at the moment. Which was why they were both currently holed up in a tree, kneeling on branches, watching whatever Yujo had deigned so entertaining as to forego lunch.

From the looks, it was nothing more than Naruto and Sakura—Konoha's parody of Bonnie and Clyde—doing what they did best now that they were on the same team: Everything that anyone with an ounce of dignity wouldn't. And then waiting for Uchiha The Emo Sasuke to save them. Though, Hana supposed it wasn't as much Sakura's fault as it was Naruto's. Natsu was nearly the same, but she hadn't went so low as to decrease the little dignity she had left. (Not that she'd ever had much, dejected as the thought is.)

"Dude," Natsu whispered, "That blond girl down there is kind of hot."

"Dude," Hana replied sarcastically, "They're all about to get pummeled. The red-haired guy is kind of freaking me out though. He's standing upside down in a tree."

"Well. We're kneeling in a tree."

"Bit more normal than upside down, I think."

"But who likes normal, yeah?"

Yujo and Natsu found themselves staring into a pair of violet eyes. Each. One pair wicked and one pair calculating.

Hana found herself looking at a pair of teal eyes. Volatile eyes.

"Huh." The eyes glittered. "Hi there, girlie."

* * *

_A/N:  
__  
Himawarixxsandz: Yeah, so sorry this chapter is short, but I couldn't lump it in with anything else. And you don't really find out about anything in this chapter except for the fact that when I went over it with NTspaz, she not only told me she didn't know who Casanova was, but who Bonnie and Clyde were, too. The next chapter will be better. I promise. Hopefully. I'm at NTspaz's house right now as we write this and she's being retarded as always. So, before she accidentally kills herself, I'll let her stop playing the effing guitar and start telling you how much of a freak she is._

_NTspaz: quoting Natsu, "You're so mean." and i DO know who Casanova is... just not Bonnie & Clyde. Don't hurt me... Anyways, well, uhh... First order of business: ahah, Yujo! He's not so much so semi-anorexic... why not, fully? Lawlzah, jk jk. As for Hien, again, he's a freak, just a freak... -_- So, uh, dudes! Keep on reading, just keep reading, reading, reading. And i'll shut up before you peeps aim flame throwers at me. Lawlz_


	3. Cue This Space

Chapter Three: Cue This Space

Yujo stared. At the violet eyes that were presently staring back at him. They were kind of nice. In a strange way. The black as ebony and white as snow that surrounded those eyes were rather nice to look at also. But the smile caught at him. The smile was odd—half-cocked and waiting as if to see Yujo make the first move, gauging what Yujo would do. "Hi," the boy said under his breath.

And for once, for some strange reason, something compelled him to respond. Respond to this boy that he none but laid his eyes on seconds ago, when at times, he didn't respond to his teammates who he'd known for months—years, even, in regards to Hana and Natsu. "Hello."

The boy's smile broadened.

Somehow, it made Yujo say, "You have nice eyes."

Those lovely eyes widened. "Thanks."

And then Hana screamed, "_What's wrong with you?_"

Yujo and the boy turned. The boy seemed to give a little sigh. "Good God, Hien. Take it easy on him. Weren't we supposed to save the easy ones for Himawari to play with?"

"I know," the girl—Himawari—pouted, as she swung her tiny legs from the branch, crossing them and sitting there like she was sunning herself on the beach. "It's ladies first, Hien, you pervert bastard."

_Hien_ was currently wearing an expression that Yujo equaled to a child who'd just had his coloring book stomped on. Hien—who currently had his hands wrapped around Natsu's throat, as Natsu thrashed and let out strangled shouts, flailing so violently that were Hien's hands to let go, he would most likely fall to the ground. "Aw, you always get first picks. You just use the fact that you're a babe so Rikachi and I never get any."

Himawari hoisted herself backward until the backs of her knees cupped the branch. She pushed and let go—hanging upside down like a bat, lustrous hair straight on end, arrowed toward the ground. "Be that way. And I told you I'm not a babe."

"What…" Hana's eyes had seemed to have widened so that they rims were trembling. "How can you…just _talk_ like that—YUJO!" She turned to him, her face frantic. "Are you just—_do something_!"

Yujo merely looked at her. Indeed, he agreed with Hana's hysteria that these three shinobi they were facing were callous—callous to a point that they couldn't be considered children anymore. Not teenagers. Not young adults. They were more like monsters. But why did she turn to him? He blinked at her—her expression frozen, screaming silently. Couldn't she do something herself?

He turned to the boy with lovely eyes. Rikachi. "Tell your teammate to stop."

Rikachi just smiled. But Hien heard. He let go of Natsu—letting him reel backward and unable to stop himself because of the rush of oxygen that attacked him. Yujo watched as Hana their teammate by the arm, yanking him back onto a wide branch, one hand on Natsu's shoulder, looking strained as he regained breath. "Shit, sorry 'bout that." Hien grinned in a way that Yujo personally thought didn't look very apologetic at all.

Especially considering that Natsu now looked like a strangulation victim. Yujo tilted his head. Which he sort of was, Yujo guessed. Sort of.

As Hana geared her mouth open to—Yujo's prediction—spaz and shout and scream about how insane they were and how this was just messed up, Rikachi whispered, "Hey."

Yujo raised an eyebrow.

The violet eyes glittered. "What's your name? Was it Yujo like the girl said?"

He nodded.

"What's your clan name?"

"Nakamori." Yujo's tongue pushed the ring to the left. He felt Rikachi's eyes gather to watch the silver movement.

The violet eyes lit up. In recognition. Yujo had always hated it when that happened. "Ah. I've got a screamer, huh? You're quite, though."

"_You've_ got?" He'd noticed that Rikachi's face seemed a few inches closer than when they'd started out.

A full on grin, now. "Yeah. I've got. Y'know?" Rikachi's hand went to his headband and Yujo's eyes stretched just the most infinitesimal bit at the fact that it was a Sunagakure symbol. He hardly had time to gather the words to ask, when the dark-haired boy with those lovely, calculating violet eyes grinned at him a last time before vanishing in a whirl of sand, along with his teammates.

Yujo was left there, watching as Hana and Natsu glared into the air—glared after the sand. He looked at Natsu pointedly.

"Nojiko hears nothing about this," was the reply. Natsu glared again, probably for idiotic emphasis.

"What?" Hana asked, her eyebrows furrowing a slight.

Yujo thought that although he'd never liked girls before, he could learn to like Hana. Because he also thought that maybe she didn't count as a girl. Yeah. Hana really didn't count as a girl, because she didn't quite figure into Yujo's mind as one. She never seemed to want to change him. Even though she more than seemed to be infuriated—as everyone else was—over his self-induced, ridiculously adamant silence.

That was more than he could say about his used-to-be-Academy-classmates.

So maybe for now, he could be nice. Natsu was annoying, after all. "Nojiko should know."

"How come you have to talk when no one wants you to, but you never talk when everyone's fed up with your shut-mouth?" Natsu scowled, his hand flying to his throat and rubbing at the bruises.

Although he knew neither of his teammates could see it, Yujo felt his expressionless expression ripple just a bit. Only a bit. Sometimes Natsu being Natsu did that to him. He knew that Hana got along far better with Natsu, but that was probably just because he talked. He'd noticed people liked people who talked better than people who didn't. Which was understandable, if you squinted at it from the right angle. Yujo wrapped his tongue around the ring. "They were from Sunagakure."

"That's why I think Nojiko should know," Hana said quietly, her eyes looking discreetly from Natsu to Yujo. "But…they could be here because…well…the exams."

"We'll be pummeled." Yujo nodded after his words.

Natsu whipped around and looked at him in a pained sort of way. "Dude, that's not even funny anymore. Not that you ever were, but seriously. Why d'you have to say crap like that? I know you're all emo and doom-and-gloom and shit, but it's like you don't even like being on a team with me and Hana."

Yujo continued to hold his expression. He knew the minute he really looked at Natsu that this one wouldn't have what it took to understand. Hana was a definite possibility, but Natsu was a _never_. Never. People like Natsu—like Naruto—couldn't understand. So why bother trying to get him to?

He glanced to Hana. She sort of tugged one side of her mouth to the side and shrugged lightly. Yujo knew when it was time to leave. When Natsu was too much for Hana's presence to temper down, it was time to leave. And he did. He cocked his head to the side in acknowledgement to Hana, blinked at Natsu, formed a hand sign, and then he was gone.

* * *

Hien let his tongue curl out against the corner of his upper lip, right hand around his left to steady the slow movement that was him kunai-carving a few or so profanities for kicks into the wall of the room he and Rikachi were given in the inn they were staying at for the exams. Maybe if he got into a right mood, he'd manage to come up with a third-person passionate declaration of love that he could use to desecrate the space of floor beneath the end of his futon.

His cousin had resorted to watching him and trying to guess what he was going to carve before he finished. Before about ten minutes ago, Rikachi had had his ear on the north wall, listening through the screen and trying to glean something from the Himawari-Kankuro-Temari tirades that were currently taking place. And the occasional rustling of movement from Gaara that came from the other side of the south wall.

After those first ten minutes, Hien knew Rikachi would tire of listening to the tirades. As from personal experience, he himself had determined the stages to a two-sided (sometimes three-sided) battle amongst the sane (or however close to it) children of the Kazekage. And the good parts never last more than fifteen minutes, with ten being the average.

Stage One consisted of Himawari slamming the door closed (sometimes in Hien's face), and turning to her older siblings, usually either screaming at them to sit down or dangerously hissing at them to listen up and listen well. And that would garner a few choice words from Temari about how little sisters should listen themselves instead of always thinking that others are wrong and never she herself.

Stage Two consisted of Himawari's (in Hien's opinion) rather brilliantly constructed clever putdowns, and then Temari shoving Kankuro into the battlefield for a go.

Stage Three was always a recuperating stage, as Kankuro seemed to anger Himawari far less than Temari for reasons that Hien really didn't understand as Temari had a more sensible brain on her shoulders and since Himawari always seemed to love logic and all that gloomy stuff, Kankuro should anger her _more_. But he didn't. Meaning Himawari would calm down enough to reason a bit.

Although as far as Hien was concerned, if you wanted to win a verbal battle with Himawari, getting her riled up as much as possible was in your best interests. An awfully angry Himawari could usually see and think nothing but red, whereas a calm Himawari was just plain dangerous. Using Kankuro to calm her down was a stupid move. But. Hien wasn't the one playing the game.

All the stages after that were just run-ons. Meaning Rikachi had just heard Kankuro's lazily quirky voice bring Himawari's temper down over ten notches, and meaning that Rikachi also must've sensed an easy victory for their female teammate. Really. If they were her siblings, they should know better.

Hien didn't think she was that hard to figure out at all. Quite easy, if you knew how to look. But then again, although he knew that Himawari was far from right in the case of her older siblings, her older siblings were also far from right. It always seemed as though they only ever pulled the 'We're family' strings when they were in grave danger of actually being physically (Gaara) or mentally (Himawari) assaulted.

Not that Himawari made it any easier. But Hien understood her version better, y'know, since she was his teammate and all.

Or maybe it was because she was hot.

Yeah. That was probably it.

* * *

Yujo shut the screen doors behind him, and looked out at his room. It was the traditional style all the ninja clan's houses were put together, and although most of his siblings and cousins had managed to convince their parents to let them renovate into Westerner's rooms, Yujo blatantly preferred things the way they were. It was easier that way—and the fluorescent lights had always given him a headache. Lanterns were calmer.

The contents in his room were put together like a clinic—clean and detached. His bed off to one side, his wardrobe to another, a mirror to the left of the shoji doors, a bookshelf filled to the brim on the right, and a desk beside the window on the south wall.

Yujo folded his legs behind him and collapsed on the cushion, leaning his elbows on the desktop. His window was closed. Someone must have come to his room and done that. He always left it open before he left. Always. He also never used the lock—the lock that'd been installed after his father, head of the clan, had just about had a stroke after hearing about Hyuuga Hinata's kidnapping all those years ago.

Yujo didn't really care. No one had ever tried to kidnap him. Whether that was an insult or a compliment, he wasn't quite sure. Maybe Hinata had just been cuter.

He stood up and crossed over to the nightstand, and lit the lantern with the matches set to the side. It barely illuminated the room—there was another lantern on his desk for when he needed to work, but the average amount of light any other person needed (as Hana was always telling him) was devastatingly bright to Yujo. It made him irritable.

He fumbled with the locks on the window for a bit, before thrusting the small doors open, and resting his arms on the ledge. He'd taken a four-hour detour after departing from the scene, leaving for the outskirts of Konoha—the very fringe of the village's forests and spent those aforementioned hours deforming the landscape. More or less, he was sure he'd been out far enough that none of the nearby villagers had heard him.

Yujo leaned farther out the window and glanced down, hands wrapped around the edge to steady himself. In the night, he could make out the barest outline of the window below him. He could hear the familiar murmur of low voices, obviously male—familiar as a whole, but he only knew the speaker of one of the two—and the rustling of clothes. It wouldn't be long now.

On cue, seconds later, and a young brown-haired man—most likely a Chunin—dashed out the window and disappeared into the thicket of trees. Almost directly after, Yujo saw Nojiko, leaning shirtless out the window. Or more accurately, Yujo saw Nojiko's mess of black hair, and the rivulet of muscles on his naked back.

"Hey," he called down mutedly. "Move back."

At the sound, Nojiko turned upward, rolling his entire body around slowly enough that Yujo could watch how his broad shoulder blades rippled beneath the skin—made even more flawless in the semi-darkness. Nojiko grinned, leaning _back_ against the windowsill now, in order to look at Yujo. "Waiting and watching again, huh?"

The corner of Yujo's lips tugged upward slightly. "Vice versa. Now move."

Nojiko laughed a hushed laugh, and then disappeared back into his room. Yujo put his index and middle finger together, pointing straight up, and gathered the rest of his fingers into a fist, concentrating chakra into the soles of his bare. With an exhale of breath, he vaulted over the windowsill and walked down the wall of the building, sliding easily into Nojiko's bedroom window.

His sensei grinned again as the chakra dissipated from Yujo's feet. As always, Nojiko's bed was wholly rumpled—sheets and clothes thrown about. The lanterns were lit brighter than in Yujo's room, and scrolls—furled and unfurled—were messily laid around the desk. In the midst of the somehow charming chaos, Nojiko sat on the bed, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his thighs.

Yujo sat at the desk. "They get younger every time."

"Hm? How d'you mean?"

"That one was a Chunin, wasn't he?"

Nojiko moved a hand up and propped his cheek against it. "Maybe." He raised an eyebrow amusedly. "He was a Jonin in bed, though."

Yujo merely commenced to lap at his lip ring. "Older men go for the same type?"

"Is that so? I'm actually really young, in citizen terms, y'know," Nojiko said, chuckling at the back of this throat. His eyes darted from Yujo's gaze to Yujo's lips.

"Yes. But not in shinobi terms, right? Eighteen is just a bit younger than average. And every single one that comes out that window has brown hair and he's younger than you." Yujo tilted his head with a prompt sort of expression. He gave his ring another thoughtful stroke of the tip of his tongue. "Anyway."

Nojiko stood up, and began to pick up the clothes and right the sheets. "Anyway what? Girl problems, now that we're on this subject? Hana appears to be the only girl that can stand you, y'know. You were pretty chummy today."

Yujo blinked, and said, "Even in shinobi terms, you're too young to talk like that."

"Yeah, yeah. So what's up?"

"Why did you register us for the Chunin Exam?"

Nojiko paused mid-action, bent over halfway to reach for a fallen pillow. Painfully slow, he straightened. Paused again. Turned to look at Yujo with those blue eyes—so blue, they were electric, almost unnatural. "Because I think you're ready."

"Rephrase. Why did you register Hana and Natsu?"

The Jonin smiled in the same painful way that he'd straightened up. "It's a team thing, remember? I registered the _team_."

Yujo looked up at him, full-faced and steadily. "Goes back to the original question. Why did you register us?"

"I go back to my original answer. Because I think you're ready."

"No. You _know_ that _I'm_ ready. You _know_ that Hana and Natsu _aren't_."

Nojiko closed his eyes. Opened them. Sat down in front of Yujo, legs crossed and hands folded. "Look. I know that even my own students know I'm too young to be dealing with this kind of shit, but I know what I'm doing. If I were to let those two mature first before taking the exam, that'd take at least another year and a half's worth of missions to get up to at least the B ranks. The Chunin exam is as good as a high A ranked mission—and I don't want to wait for them to get a grip on life. Even though I know you don't believe me, I _do_ know them. I've _gotten_ to know them. And with their kind, you've gotta hit fast forward and pray to God."

"You're cruel."

"No. I'm realistic." Nojiko's hand fell onto Yujo's head with a soft plop. "And the fact that you think I'm cruel just proves how you're going to do some fast forward growing up, too."

Yujo ducked out of the contact. "Hana and Natsu will be demolished. And I'll be demolished attempting to keep them from being demolished." He frowned. "It'll be all your fault. I hope the guilt gnaws at you when we die."

Nojiko blinked blankly at him. And then laughed. "Yeah. All right." He sighed as the laughter calmed into a highly amused grin. "Now, for my duties. Have you eaten yet?"

"I ate."

Another sigh. "When, Yujo?"

Silence.

"Yujo."

"I ate an onigiri for breakfast."

Nojiko heaved a third sigh. "Go eat, you anorexic freak."

"I'm semi," Yujo said, defensiveness creeping into his voice.

"Calling it semi-anorexic is really pushing the definition of the term." Nojiko stood and offered a hand to pull him up. "C'mon. Take it."

"Don't you have any food in your room?"

"Like hell, I do. It's summer—the fruit flies start coming in. I can only do it in the winter, dumbass. Now get up, and feel lucky that I'm still willing to make you something at this time of night. And after I just fucked, I'm dead tired, y'know. Now _stand_."

Yujo allowed Nojiko to yank him up by his malnourished arm. "Can you make me chicken katsu?"

Nojiko would've sighed a fourth time, but he felt that if he sighed every time Yujo was exasperating, he would be sighing every other intake of breath. So the Jonin settled for looking wearily at Yujo—slightly amused, but wearily all the same. "Fine. It might take some time to heat up the grease, though, since it's fried. You could've just gone to a stand, y'know."

"Yours is better."

Nojiko rolled his eyes. "No it isn't."

"An opinion can't be wrong. Rephrase. _I_ like yours better." Yujo flipped his lip ring to the left for good measure.

Nojiko had to crack a smile at that. He ran a hand through his hair and led the way to the hallway. "Well, c'mon then. Clock's ticking, and if we can, I went to get in and out of there before Amaru takes the kitchen by storm." He glanced at the clock on his desk. "We've got two hours."

* * *

But as it so turned out, Nakamori Amaru was two hours early. Like Yujo, like all Nakamori, he owned the trademark endlessly green eyes with just the slightest haze of cloudiness in them, and rich brown hair. On Amaru, the brown hair was left to grow long over his eyes, over his ears, tips touching his shoulders.

He was raiding the refrigerator. Naked.

"Look at that," Nojiko said sarcastically, went straight to the stove, as Yujo took a seat at the table. "I get a free show, Yujo. And right after some little Chunin had whacked me off, too."

Amaru leaned against the island's countertop and looked at Yujo, grinning from ear to ear. "Baby cousin. Good evening, there."

"It _was_." Yujo made a pillow with his arms and gingerly rested the side of his head down.

Nojiko flipped on the pan, and turned around to wait for the oil to heat. He watched distastefully as Amaru violently transferred pieces of leftover tofu and rice from his bowl into his mouth. "Shouldn't you be fucking somewhere?"

"Nope. The one scheduled for tonight had to go on an emergency mission. Somewhere in the waterfalls, so she won't be back for a while." Amaru made a face that Yujo supposed was intended to come off as tragically distraught, but knowing his cousin and his cousin's hormones at their sixteen-year-old-full-throttle-blast, it came off more as tragically horny. "And she had such nice _legs_."

Nojiko's voice seemed to gain sarcasm with every word. "See? This is why I told you to have back-ups."

"Brilliant point, my good man," Amaru said cheerily, taking a swig straight from the sake bottle. He hovered pointedly over Nojiko's shoulder as the older man began defrosting the chicken, and cracking the eggs for the batter. "Speaking of fucking, how was your night, my dear little homo?"

Nojiko snorted. "_You_ can't say that. You fuck boys, too."

"No. Boys fuck _me_." Amaru grinned.

Yujo felt something inside him wither and die at the tone of his cousin's voice. Probably his purity.

Although that probably went a long time ago—maybe around eight years ago, when Yujo had been deemed old enough to spend time with his cousins, and bond with them because he was the future head of the Nakamori clan and all. Or it had been so quoted from Yujo's father, at least.

After all, Yujo's childhood memories were filled with Maru-nii's _playtime fun_. Since just because Amaru had been eight at the time Yujo was four, didn't mean Amaru had been any less promiscuous than he was presently. If anything, it simply had proven the immorally horny young man he would grow up to be. Along with conniving and more-than-likely evil.

There were more than enough examples. One of which included the time that Amaru had shoved Yujo's sippy cup as the four-year-old was attempting to drink from it, and thus spilled juice all over the toddler's clothes—which then meant that Yujo would have to be stripped naked, and await his nurse for a bath. And that had given Amaru the chance to steal his little cousin's clothes, hide them, and then make fun of Yujo for being such a klutz _and_ naked, until the little boy cried.

There had also been the time when Amaru had stolen Yujo's clothes while they were playing in the steaming rooms of the Nakamori Manor's baths. The time when Amaru had shoved Yujo face first into the dusty dirt when the younger boy had tried to join his older siblings and cousins in shinobi training. The time when Amaru had touched Yujo's little, underdeveloped cock and told him that someday, if he trained it well enough, it could shoot like a canon. The time when Amaru had pinched Yujo's cheeks so hard they bruised—and then promptly pinched Yujo's _other_ cheeks.

All in all, the lesson Yujo had learned through the years was that whenever he saw Amaru walking down the halls—

It was time to run.

In the opposite direction.

Fast.

Amaru sidled into the chair beside Yujo, and scooted his seat until they were shoulder to shoulder, and if Yujo looked down, he'd be able to see Amaru's perfectly displayed erection. "So," the sixteen-year-old murmured in a mocking singsong, "I heard the exams are coming up soon. Ready to be traumatized?"

"I won't be traumatized." Yujo had long since learned that his silence wouldn't cut it with Amaru. Knowing the bastard, he'd most likely pry Yujo's mouth open and reach down to the Genin's vocal chords himself.

Amaru let his eyes fall half closed and leaned over the table, face tilted against one palm, smiling up to Yujo like a sleepy Cheshire cat. Without taking those eyes from Yujo's (determinedly) deadpan expression, Amaru called out to Nojiko, who was currently deploying the chicken breasts into the pan, "Hey, baby cousin here is getting kinda hot, don't you think, sensei?"

"If I was your sensei," Nojiko retorted calmly, "I would beg the Hokage to put me out of my misery and kill me." He patted the chicken down with a spatula.

Amaru pouted. "That's harsh, sensei." He turned his gaze back to Yujo, and something in Yujo screamed at him to back away and wait for his meal to be ready somewhere far from his cousin. "Hey…I wonder if you can get hard now."

Yujo made to jutsu himself out of the room, but Amaru was a Jonin—and thus, quicker. A hand grabbed the space between his legs and squeezed. Yujo's teeth dug into his lip, and a sound that he sorely intended to silence slipped out of his mouth.

"Ooh, it looks like you _can_," Amaru practically giggled, at the same time Nojiko whipped around with a plate filled with chicken and rice, clanging it onto the table in front of Yujo.

Nojiko sighed. "Leave him alone, Amaru. He's _twelve_."

Yujo frowned inwardly, taking up his chopsticks. And _that_ was supposed to mean…? What, exactly?

Amaru pouted again, looking up at Nojiko through his lashes. "Yeah. And you're eighteen." A dramatic roll of his eyes. "But you hardly act like it." He grinned. "That is, unless you count that once—"

"Did I put too much salt on it?" Nojiko cut in, taking a seat at the table and watching Yujo eat away.

Yujo raised his eyebrows, and tapped his chopsticks against his top front teeth. "You fucked Amaru?"

Nojiko winced at the phrasing, and muttered, "Briefly."

Which made Amaru roar with laughter. "How do you fuck someone _briefly_?"

The glare Nojiko fixed upon Amaru was withering.

Amaru looked away in amusement, settling for placing his head in his hands and glancing up at Yujo from beneath. Yujo met his cousin's eyes when the smoke from the crossfire seemed to have cleared, and around a mouthful of rice, he let out a breath of something like relief. Because as much as Amaru would probably someday kill him by way of heart attack, Amaru was really the only family member that hadn't ended up being the cause of why Yujo found it so traumatic to speak in excess to anyone save for Nojiko.

And even though Amaru was most parts irritatingly frightening, the other, rare parts were parts that Yujo held tight and close.

Nojiko was family—family, because Yujo's very first memory of him featured a miserable ten-year-old boy, holding his little brother (just a few years older than Yujo) by the hand, and standing in front of the Nakamori household after they'd just been told that their father had died and they were now orphans, come to live with their late parents' closest friends.

But Nojiko wasn't family like Amaru. Yujo couldn't look into Nojiko's eyes and see a replica of his very own green eyes staring back at him, and grinning with all the gall in the world.

"Hey," Amaru said quietly, with that precisely aforementioned grin, "Did you know that the Kazekage's kids are going to be in this exam? Word is that one of the girls is super hot. If you fight her, introduce her to me, sometime, all right?"

Yujo sighed, but he smiled. "Yeah. Sure." It was the least he could do. Y'know, after all the trouble and painstaking detail Amaru had put in to telling Yujo about the birds and the bees seven years ago, when none of his siblings or cousins or aunts or uncles _or_ parents wanted to.

Although, he was sure that Amaru had had far too much enthusiasm doing so.

Then again, knowing his cousin, he probably had enjoyed it.

The bastard.

* * *

_A/N: _

_**Himawarixxsandz: **So, this was really mostly Yujo/Nojiko/Amaru character development, wasn't it? Like I said, I can write straight characters in the same way any normal, non masochistic person can tear out their eyeballs. It hurts a little inside. And as it's all angst in Compelled, I have to take out my homo-ness here. The thing is, Amaru was meant to be an utterly minor side character who pops in every five chapters. But after talking it out with NTspaz, he turned into a major character, AND gay. Er, bi. I meant for him to be the usual straight-perverted-all-over-boobs-and-bums kind of guy, but instead he not only turned out bi, verging closer to gay, but he turns out to be a freakin' uke, too. _

_Not that I have anything against ukes (because I adore them, especially if they can kick as much ass as the seme), but previously, Amaru was as much of an uke as Kurogane from TRC is. And when Amaru told me who his seme was going to be, I think I had an epilepsy seizure. _

_**NTspaz:** eh, well, nothing much to say really. Yep, yep, they're all freaks... and I'm still spazzing at my stoopid power outage. Keep reading!  
_


	4. Rev This Space

**A/N: **So, it's been literally almost a year since I've updated this thing, but just know that I am planning to finish this because it's very important to me, like I'd explain in the earlier chapters. These are my oldest characters and they've been with me since 4th grade, only this time around, I'm planning to get to know them better so you can all love them as much as I do.

* * *

Chapter Four: Rev This Space

Rikachi moved his fingers restlessly in his pockets. "We're going to be late," he said, looking at Hien simply. "And then we'll have to hurt someone in order to get in. And then Baki will yell at us. Again." He swiveled his eyes meaningfully toward the tightly locked door just feet away from him and his cousin.

Hien looked absolutely aghast. "I did it _last time_," he half-shouted. "It's your turn, asshole."

Rikachi blinked simply. "No. It's not only not my turn, but you _did not_ do it last time. You not only did not do it last time, but I did it for you twice in a row. And so it is definitely your turn, dear cousin."

His cousin deflated from aghast and landed somewhere near begging and pleading. "Do you know how fucking embarrassing it is to go walking into the Chunin Exams with a black eye?"

"No, but I s'pose you're about to find out."

Hien's jaw set irritably. "Rikachi."

"She doesn't always, you know. She usually just gets really pissed at you for the rest day—and it's not like you don't piss her off on your own for no good reason every day anyhow."

Hien sighed. "Fine. Kill me." And with heavy steps, he dragged his feet toward the door, glared one last time at Rikachi and then knocked as softly as possible on the door with his knuckles. "Um…"

Just as it looked like Hien was about to speak up, the door burst open, ricocheting off of Hien's forehead, and Himawari daintily stepped out with one hand buried in her clearly freshly blown hair, and the other hand focused on carefully smudging the corners of pitch black eyeliner. She regarded Hien's outraged expression for less than two seconds before passing him without a single word of acknowledgement or otherwise, and stood before Rikachi, tipping her face up to him. "Ready?"

"You look nice today," he said, sniffing the crown of her head politely.

"I know." She ruffled her bangs to the side slightly, as Hien tried to compose himself in the background (along with rubbing out the oncoming redness on his forehead). "I thought that it might put some of our competition of their guard."

Rikachi tugged teasingly at a lock of her hair. "You're already short enough to do that without the slut-paint."

"It's make-up."

"Is there a difference?"

She grinned. "Not really." Scrunching the ends of her hair one more time, Himawari turned and raised her eyebrows at Hien. Rolling her eyes, she walked over to him, and wrapped her little fingers around his wrists—her fingers didn't even reach three-quarters of the way around—stopping him from rubbing at his forehead. He blinked down at her in surprise. "That's just going to make it worse," she said, sticking her tongue out at him.

"You didn't have to knock me with it that hard," he said sullenly, as soon as it was made clear she wasn't going to hit him. Rikachi almost rolled his eyes in unison with Himawari as Hien very obviously pouted.

But all Himawari did next was run her fingers through the ends of Hien's still slightly shower-damp hair, fingertips brushing somewhat with Hien's neck, before smiling this odd little smile that was crossed with a smirk and said, "Yeah. I did."

Sometimes, Rikachi thought that his cousin must _really_ be an idiot.

* * *

Natsu liked to say that he was a rather affable person—often amiable and rarely irritable. And for the most part, he thought that this was quite true of him and others around him would agree that this was the best way to describe him. But lately, it seemed that there were a few things that were starting to irk his normally amiable character, and he liked to think that these were things that could irk someone even nicer than he was.

From all the happenings that had occurred to him in the past month or so, Natsu had learned that even the most affable and agreeable of people could have things they hated and Natsu had a list of about eight to ten things, with some of those things interchanging sometimes.

And it just so unfortunately was, that Natsu was heading to the Nakamori household after having had to set his alarm for half past five in the morning. Waking up before the sun did was already near the top spot on the list of things he hated, but the Nakamori estate was probably a few spots above _that_.

At the very least, if nothing else, he knew he wouldn't be suffering alone, although it was questionable in his mind whether the person walking beside him suffered from the same things he did—it was rather hard to tell when this person suffered in life because it felt like she suffered _all_ her life and still somehow managed to make it seem comical.

"So," Hana said slowly, looking at the ground as they walked—Natsu suspected, knowing Hana, that she did this probably to avoid tripping on grass again. "Which do you think is scarier—the Chunin exams or Amaru?"

Natsu shifted his hands in his pockets and glanced at her once. "Well, that depends. Do you want to get killed by a sadistic ninja or molested by one?"

She sputtered incoherently—tripping on grass.

"Yeah," Natsu yawned, walking on while his teammate tried to regain balance. "Me, too."

She shuffled quickly back to his pace and whispered urgently, although in Natsu's opinion, it just came out funny again, "He's _not_ going to go pedo on us again, right?"

"He went more hardcore pedo on me than you, if I remember right," he replied, disgruntled at the memory. "'Sides, he just sort of flirted with _you_."

Hana squeaked. "I'm twelve. I am _twelve_."

Natsu blinked. "Cool—so am I."

"That's not the point!" she squeaked again.

He wrinkled his nose and teasingly shoved her forehead until she staggered backward and tripped (again). "Let's just hurry up and get there before it gets too bright out—maybe if we're there early enough, the pedobear won't be awake yet or he'll be awake but he won't be awake enough to sense his prey or something."

Hana's cheeks puffed out. "You shouldn't push people." She rubbed her forehead dryly. "And it's like you don't even care that if we hurry, we're hurrying to get our death certificates."

He kicked a pebble as they turned the corner, bowing out of the way of an elderly farmer. "Well, who knows," he said plainly as soon as they'd gotten out of earshot of the old man, "maybe we'll actually not screw up and save our death certificates for another time." In a lower tone, he added, "It's not like we're civilians."

The look she gave him made something in his stomach drop to his ankles. "We might as well be—even if he somehow miraculously survived for whatever bigger part of the exam there is, the only one who's actually going to make it to Chunin is Yujo. You know that, right?"

Natsu was silent. He merely shrugged one shoulder in ambiguous agreement, and picked up his pace. Hana peered at him. "Look," she said, somehow sensing the rainclouds that were starting to appear over Natsu's head, "I'm not saying that we're going to fail—I'm just saying that we need a few more years and Yujo's been ready since his mom popped him out, so let's just try to stay alive until it gets down to individuals and then bow out for him."

However, instead of making the rainclouds evaporate, Hana's words seemed to turn them into storm clouds. "So what you're saying," Natsu's eyebrows furrowed, "is that we're not only not even supposed to try to make it, we're supposed to just be there for _Yujo_ to make it? Are you _stupid_?"

Natsu had never bothered to control his temper when he was around people because they always thought that when he gave in to an outburst, it was just amusing because they were so common. And for him, it didn't really matter if he wasn't taken too seriously because most of the time, his anger dissipated in a matter of minutes anyhow. But after he'd met Hana, and after the first time he'd yelled at her (it might've been from crankiness after a long practice or because of hunger, he didn't quite remember), he'd thought to himself that she was probably the first person to not only take him seriously when he yelled at her, but also to look sort of scared.

It wasn't a kind of scared that made him feel powerful or cruel or anything like that—it was the kind of scared that made him feel like he was stepping on a puppy's tail or maybe stealing a baby's teeth ring. The best analogy that he sometimes used to amuse himself was that of a frightened turtle retracting its head back into the depths of its shell.

But sometimes, it was also just irritating.

Hana's cheeks puffed out again, but this time out of what looked like apology, and she stared down at her walking feet.

They walked for another ten minutes before Natsu had pushed off enough embarrassment to talk properly. "Don't you want to be a chunin, too?" he asked quietly, as the sky began to gain orange light.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "To be honest, not really."

He frowned. "Seriously?"

"Maybe someday—I don't really want to right now. For one thing," she snorted. "I don't know about you, but I'd like to be alive for a little longer. Maybe learn a bit more about being a ninja so that when I do become a chunin, I don't get killed on the first mission and screw things up."

"How do you know you'll die?" Natsu finally sighed, exasperated.

"How do you know you won't?"

This time it was his turn to put his eyes to the ground. "Touché," he grumbled.

She grinned.

* * *

"They were supposed to be here by now," Nojiko said, staring at the progress of the sunrise, arms folded and leaning against the thick, wooden post of the Nakamori front gates. Yujo stood silently beside him, looking infinitely interested in the way two pebbles were overlapping each other on the ground. "They're either still asleep or not awake enough to walk faster."

"Maybe they're having sex." Amaru's voice floated down from the top of the stone lined walls. He was laying spread-eagle, face to the sky, his long, exaggerated kimono-styled sleeves (a staple of the Nakamori clan's uniform) and the thin arms they hid dangling off the sides.

Inside of the Nakamori manor, Nojiko didn't often see Amaru clothed. In fact, clothed or not, he usually tried not to see Amaru at all—since that was what anyone who wished to remain sane should do. But on the not so rare, but not so common, occasion that he bumped into Amaru at work, whether in the Hokage's mansion delivering signed papers or on their separate ways to or from a mission, Amaru clothed was almost better than Amaru naked.

Because as much as Nojiko really would rather not have to deal with Amaru's unfathomable way of thinking, bumping into him naked brightened his day whether he wanted it to or not. And considering that he'd already had sex with Amaru, he'd locked that away because he really didn't want to do it again, not that it hadn't been amazing, but more so that Amaru was just really too weird for him. During sex, everything had been peachy keen and for a short moment when they were lying in bed in the quiet after-glow, he'd almost thought that maybe he could learn to love Amaru.

And then the kid had to talk.

But really, all of the Nakamori, as most purebred clans (Uchiha, and the Hyuuga) were, were all good-looking people and looked, appropriately so, even more good-looking in their traditional uniforms. But Amaru seemed to make the perfectly modest traditional uniform extremely untraditional just by wearing it.

The Nakamori had a uniform similar to the combat uniform for the Hyuuga, with the billowing sleeves that extended well past their fingers, the white kimono, only for the Nakamori, they cut and tucked it into the regulation black shinobi training pants. And because of most Nakamori males' slight frames, they wore numerous metal meshes and protectors to hide all of the skin that might be shown from the kimono's collar loosening during combat—as there was no obi holding it together, just how apt one was in tucking fabric into a waistband.

Anyone who knew Amaru would laugh at the idea of him ever wearing that much padding for the sake of hiding skin he'd want to show anyway. Rightly enough, he only wore a thin layer of metal to protect his shoulders and torso underneath the white kimono, but everything else that the loose collar showed, Amaru just let it show.

Nojiko should also probably one day rip all of Amaru's pants so he'd buy ones that were less tight and maybe toss his boots into the river, too. It didn't really matter to Nojiko that they were perfectly in harmony with regulation dress code—it just really drove him up the wall that Amaru always looked that immaculate (and lots of other adjectives that Nojiko should never let Yujo catch him thinking of) when the kid was that obviously mentally unstable.

Life wasn't fair.

And it honestly just wasn't Nojiko who thought this—he'd spoken to a variety of others who thought that even though sex with Amaru was a form of seventh heaven, it just wasn't enough to keep them from losing their marbles trying to keep up with Amaru's much-too-unique thoughts. At the very least, no one ever doubted why Amaru was one of Ibiki's leading assistants in the Interrogation and Torture department.

Nojiko sighed and massaged the left side of his forehead. "They're not having sex, Amaru. They're twelve and I'm sure that Hana might not even know what sex _is_."

Amaru sat up, his arms switching places with his legs and the soles of his boots knocked steadily against the stone wall as his feet dangled. He smiled brightly down at Nojiko. "That's mean, Ko-kun—_all_ girls know what sex is." He nudges Yujo's shoulder with the toe of his boot. "You know what sex is, right, baby cousin?"

Yujo spared a glum, sleepy glance at Amaru. Nojiko sighed again. "Please don't pollute any of his brain cells this early. At least wait until after the exams are over—the last thing I need is to send my students in after you're done with them. They're already going to go through enough in the course of the next few days."

Amaru pouted, but his eyes were sparkling with laughter. "How would you know?" His smile brightened an additional hundred watts. "You don't work under Ibiki."

This—Nojiko did not know. He felt the little ache in his left forehead pulse harder and perhaps his eyes might've bugged slightly at those words. He turned and gripped Amaru's ankle. "Please," he said, staring right up at Amaru's beautiful, amused face, "for the love of all that is sane, tell me that you're just fucking around with me again."

Amaru doubled over, arms reaching down and hands cupping Nojiko's face. "I would love to have you fuck me again," he laughed—whenever Amaru laughed, Nojiko had never once heard it done insincerely. Amaru's laugh was always full and childlike—fascinated and true and earnest. Perhaps that was what made Amaru even scarier sometimes—because his amusement of odd things wasn't a cause of any sort of trauma or childhood tragedy but just rather that that was how Amaru was.

"Amaru, that's now what I—" Nojiko began irritably.

"I'm sorry, Ko-kun," Amaru said, with the most infinitesimal hint of actual sympathy in his voice (just because Amaru was always sincere, didn't mean he was the most empathetic of people), "but Ibiki's really proctoring. No one's supposed to know, but I don't think he'd care if I told you."

Nojiko's mind started shifting into high gear. "Would it matter if I told the kids?" Yujo's head turned.

Amaru's cheeks puffed up and his lower lip pushed out as he shrugged. "I don't think it would, but it's not like it'll make a difference. Ibiki always makes sure that being prepared and unprepared will matter jackshit. 'Sides, if you made them cheat like that, then it'll forego the point of making chunin anyway, won't it?"

There hadn't been many times when Amaru was wrong. In fact, Nojiko only needed one hand to count the number of those times.

"Fuck, I hate when you're right," Nojiko groaned, and then hating himself for sounding like the eighteen-year-old that he was rather than the sensei he should be. He yanked himself away from Amaru, trying to block out the sound of that childlike laughter.

Amaru abruptly jumped down, stood right in front of Nojiko and tipped up his smiling face. "Of course you don't—you love it when I'm right."

Nojiko made a face. "Not really."

But Amaru merely smiled. "I believe you, then."

Nojiko felt his eyebrows twitch just a little because Amaru obviously _didn't_. Not that Nojiko could blame him, because he'd just acted like an idiot, although Amaru had a special gift of making everyone around him seem like an idiot.

"Just, please," Nojiko pleaded, "when Hana and Natsu get here, please, for my sake, act sane—_pretend_ you are sane. I will blow you for a month if you do this for me and don't scare them shitless."

Amaru raised his eyebrows. "Really?" Anyone else Nojiko knew would have been dripping with sarcasm, but Amaru, being Amaru, just sounded eager.

"Amaru, I'm begging you," Nojiko snapped, "And no, not really."

"But I _am_ sane." The Nakamori jonin grinned.

"I don't care," the sensei went on. "All I care is that Hana and Natsu think you are completely fucking off your rocker and I didn't even want you here in the first place, but since you fucking threatened me—"

"—Ko-kun, I'd never—"

"—it was either let you be here or be late handing them their forms because you said you'd have my ass shredded into so many pieces, they would have to sew them all back together in the span of a week."

Amaru sighed delicately and looked up at Nojiko with Yujo's eyes—those green, green Nakamori eyes—only instead of shining with timidity, they shone with playful pleading. "Kakashi's been too busy with _his_ kids, so he never has time to come and play."

"So what?" Nojiko made another face. "_I'm_ your new playmate?"

"I'm bored," Amaru whined. "What _else_ am I supposed to do?"

The pulsing in his head was starting to form into a full-on migraine. "You're unbelievable. You are seriously…I don't even have words. Just—unbelievable." Nojiko whistled once, and then massaged his head more furiously. "Honestly, wow, you're just—fuck, you're the best. When Ibiki retires or gets bored or killed, you'll be first in line for his spot—hands down."

Amaru stuck out his tongue and wrinkled his nose. "I don't want to be the leader. That's not fun." Then he smiled. "And of course I'm the best."

"Completely," Nojiko deadpanned. "It's not even nine and I've already considered three different possible methods of suicide." He edged a few steps away from Amaru and watched him adjust the scabbard of his kodachi inside his waistband. "Someday that thing's going to stab you—I don't understand why you can't just be normal at least about weapons and wear a belt."

"How come?" Amaru yawned, shaking his overgrown bangs out of his eyes. "My pants are plenty tight enough."

Nojiko glared at the sun, well on its way to completing its rise from the horizon. He wished it would go back down and rise in ten minutes because at this rate he was going to end up cursing at Hana and Natsu again. "I hope you know that you're a walking talking hazard sign. Your hair almost covers your eyes and you don't tie it up with anything, your hitai-ate looks like it could slide off your leg when a breeze blows, you're sword is tucked into your pants, and you only have one layer of protecting under your clothes. I don't _wonder_ why you're not for combat."

"I sweat when I fight," Amaru whined again. "Ibiki doesn't take his assistants on away missions, so I get to do my job in a cool, air-conditioned basement room."

Suddenly, Yujo came back to life and looked at his cousin pointedly. "In the winter, you complain that the heater's never on right."

Amaru wrapped his arms around Yujo's neck enthusiastically. "So you _did_ listen to me that time when I put one of those civilian walkie-talkies in your room."

"I don't think he listened," Nojiko said, prying Amaru's tentacles off of Yujo. "Considering that they weren't walkie-talkies, but rather those things civilians put in their babies' cribs to hear them cry, and you kept the crib end and put the parents' end in Yujo's room—and then sealed it to his wall with jutsu."

Amaru remained latched onto Yujo and since Nojiko hadn't had breakfast yet, and the migraine was getting worse, he didn't bother trying hard enough to separate the prey from its predator. "It's because we never have enough family time, me and Yujo." Amaru placed his cheek on the crown of Yujo's head.

Yujo blinked.

Nojiko sighed. "You can't call what you do to him _family_ time, Amaru."

"Then what do I call it?"

The sensei was about to reply with something that combined personal space invasion and a mild-form of verbal sexual harassment, but his line of sight had caught two figures walking steadily towards them in the distance. "Finally," he breathed. "They're going to have to hustle if they don't want to be late to the waiting room."

Amaru released Yujo (although, it didn't make much of a difference, considering Yujo rarely moved in reaction anyhow), and stepped to stand beside Nojiko. "About that, Ko-kun, how come you're so worried anyway? The exams start sometime around noon and the sun just finished coming up. And because they're meeting us here, the place isn't even far."

Nojiko glanced briefly at Yujo, who was resuming his interest in the pebbles near his toe. "I don't want them to have to take in all they're going up against at once. If they get there early and see each team coming in one by one, then maybe they'll have some time to adjust and consider what this exam really is." In a quieter voice he said, "It's not really Yujo, I'm worried about. It's Hana and Natsu—at least in the beginning."

"Ah," Amaru drew out the sound. "Okay. That's kind of smart."

"Well, _I'm_ smart," Nojiko gave him an odd look.

Amaru simply smiled back. "I know."

Nojiko decided not to respond this time because showing signs of life in reaction to Amaru's crazy never turned out well for anyone. Instead, he waved one arm frantically in the air, signaling for the two figures to start sprinting towards him. Hana and Natsu were, expectedly, panting when they reached him even though he'd made them run farther before.

Probably because they were the kind of genin that gave Nojiko migraines every time he thought about them.

"You're late," he said.

They weren't looking at him. They didn't even seem to be listening. All four eyes were glued to Amaru. Natsu immediately took a step back—Amaru smiled from beside Yujo, up against the gate. "Why the hell is he here?" Natsu said, alarmed, giving Nojiko a betrayed expression as though it was his sensei's fault that the craziness couldn't be locked up.

Hana was just standing wide-eyed, looking perhaps even more betrayed than Natsu.

"She's so cute," Amaru tipped his head to the side lightly and gave a little wave with his overgrown-sleeve-covered-hand. Personally, Nojiko had once thought (_had once_, as in—_not anymore_) that the way everything a normal human would've done with his hands, Amaru had to do with his sleeves in the way because they were just that long was far cuter than an infuriating twelve-year-old girl every could be.

But there was crazy.

When Amaru lifted his hand up, the fabric doubled over and shook a little in the morning breeze.

"I beg of you," Hana hissed to Nojiko. "Why is he—"

"Please just shut up," he cut in wearily. "It's not even lunch time and I already have a headache. I'm just going to give you your forms and tell you some crap and then you three can just go and try to stay in as long as possible so maybe I don't have to see you for the better part of a week."

"The exams are that long?" she said hoarsely.

Suddenly, Amaru jumped forward and through his sleeves around Hana.

She shrieked and started to flail—which would've been funny if not for the fact that it didn't matter how pretty and frail Amaru looked, he was still a jonin and his hold was iron. "Ha-chan," he said, cuddling her the same way any sane toddler would to a stuffed animal, "I hope you don't die in the exams, okay? But even if you do, it'll be okay because I'll make sure you're corpse looks really good." Amaru paused. "But if you want to be cute at your funeral, don't get cut up too much before you die, all right?"

Hana went up an octave.

"Amaru…" Nojiko felt all that was left of his strength ebb away.

Miraculously, as suddenly as he'd latched onto her, Amaru let go of Hana.

And commenced to latch onto Natsu.

Only it wasn't quite latching since Natsu was as tall as Amaru, maybe even taller by half a centimeter, so all Amaru could really do was wrap himself around Natsu's arm and enthusiastically say, "Nat-kun, I hope you don't die either."

"Sensei," Natsu shouted, frozen stiff as though afraid that if he moved, the poison on his arm would spread through his entire body. "Sensei—the homo—seriously, Sensei, I'm not laughing."

Nojiko knew he would pay for this in either blood or semen later on, but since he didn't want the first students he ever had to die before they were even legal to drink, he took Amaru by the collar and pulled him away from Natsu. He grabbed Yujo by the shoulder, stuffed his pockets with the forms and said into his student's ear, "Just get the two shitheads registered and make sure they don't get killed before the exam starts."

"What happens after the exam starts?" Yujo asked back quietly.

"I don't know," Nojiko hissed back. "Go—go." With his free hand, he waved them off, restraining the urge to _flip _them off as Hana and Natsu continued to shoot him betrayed looks the entire time they were leaving.

Once they were gone, Amaru glanced up at him from the corner of his eyes. "You must be really horny to grab me like that—and you're still holding on, too."

Nojiko let go of him hastily. "You'll be the death of me."


End file.
